Sunday, April 09, 2006
You Could Learn A Lot From Being a Dummy
“Hi, my name is Vince. Do you wear your seat belt?” I crouched down to the toddler’s level. He took one terrorized look at my molded plastic head with mesh eyes and mouth, and burrowed his head into his mother’s leg with an apprehensive whimper. His mom apologized, “He’s usually more friendly.”
I hope I didn’t do more harm than good during my brief career as a crash-test dummy. My supervisor had pleaded with me to wear the uniform as part of Healthy Kids Day at the YMCA. “You’ll be perfect!” she gushed. (What was THAT supposed to mean?! No wisecracks about my being blonde, or having spent years priming for the part, please!) “Besides, the mask is too big for me and I can’t see out the eyeholes,” she cajoled. Although skeptical, I agreed to play the dummy. Sarah, a co-worker who is young and adventurous enough to probably try anything once, volunteered to be Larry, the other dummy. She and I tried to talk up the “opportunity” at our staff meeting. “We’re going to be the stars of the whole event,” we bragged. “You all will be wishing you were Vince and Larry!” The staff smiled politely and kept their mouths shut.
At 11 AM on Health Kids Day, we donned the hazard symbol-emblazoned uniforms that we would mindlessly wear for the next two hours. Larry’s was powder blue, mine sedate slate. The jumpsuits were all right, not really form-flattering, but hey, dressmaker dummies don’t have clothes at all, so we considered ourselves lucky. The headgear, however, was nearly intolerable. The two Mr. Potato Head-like pieces screwed together at the neck, and then clamped shut at the top with large magnets. And the magnets worked. It was suffocatingly claustrophobic. To make matters worse, the masks had been cleaned with some malodorous chemical that probably came from a container marked with a hazard symbol itself. It was tough to breathe.
Visibility was another immediate problem. I never realized before how much I depended on, or used my peripheral vision. As I walked, I felt like I had to keep my arms stretched out in a permanent lateral arm raise, just to keep my balance. I kept losing Larry, even when he/she was standing right next to me, because I couldn’t see him/her. “Larry? Larry?! …… Larry!!!” I nearly panicked, and spun around in a circle until my tunnel vision focused on Sarah standing right by my side. We decided to stick together.
There was an interesting benefit to being Vince despite the discomforts. Very few people knew who I was, and the anonymity gave me a giddy sense of power. It was like I was spying on people even though I was in plain sight. Most of the adults I talked to did not know my identity, although they were acquainted with me. I was tempted to say something playfully outrageous (which I didn’t) or really dumb, which I did (only to solidify my character.) After all, it was Vince, not I, who took the fall. And he’s used to crashing and burning.
Our main responsibility was handing out small bags full of goodies—bandaids, seat belt key chains, coloring pages, stickers, and pencils. At times it was hard to find takers for these freebies, because the kids were frightened of us. Chuckles, the clown, had a long line of adoring kids waiting happily for balloons. We, on the other hand, could send alarmed children fleeing with one step in their direction. One mother confided, “My kids think you’re aliens. Don’t feel bad.” Not aliens, we’re DUMMIES promoting car safety! “Always buckle up!” we called out cheerily, with a thumbs up gesture, as the youngsters eyed us warily from a distance.
We decided we might be able to improve our image by joining the dodgeball game in the next gym. Maybe the older kids would think we were cool. That was a dumb idea, but that’s what kind of ideas dummies have. We were the obvious targets, and the kids showed no mercy. When you’re having trouble breathing to begin with, why make it worse by running around and trying to avoid being pelted by balls?! We overheated in a hurry, and needed some fresh air. We deserted dodgeball and headed for the back door to go outside. As we walked down the hall behind some of the other kids who had also left the game, one girl turned around, and asked disdainfully, “Why are you following us?!” Apparently no one wanted to see us, OR be seen with us.
Two hours of being a dummy actually went by fairly quickly. Surprisingly we ran out of goodie bags, and began giving away stickers that said “Give me a hug. I wear my seatbelt!” But now Vince has gone back to knockin’ his noggin in the crash tests. Although I don’t plan to play that character again any time soon, it was a memorable experience. I learned something about handicaps, acceptance, tolerance, and patience. And if I motivated (or scared) one child to habitually wear his seatbelt, then in the long run, being a dummy was worth it.
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That picture of you two in the costumes is definitely going to make an appearance on my desktop. I get a kick out of looking at it every time. I wonder what Jimmy (from Aquarium of the Americas in New Orleans) would have done had he been presented with the daunting challenging of “touching” or hugging the dummies! When you mentioned that you weren’t sure how to respond to the “compliment” that you would be perfect for the part of a crash dummy, it reminded me of a recent experience I had. A woman in our ward called me up and asked me whether I would be willing to help her out with a little skit in primary on Sunday. I agreed (maybe prematurely), and then she told me that I would be playing the part of Satan in the Council in Heaven. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that invitation, but accepted it nevertheless. Anyway, I found your account of the crash test dummy experience to be quite hilarious. Superbly done!
Maybe the dummy costume is some evil ploy by your sinister boss, the questionable fumes making it hard to breathe? Sounds like a plot to cause some brain damage... making you a dummy even after the suit comes off. Maybe it's just my wacky paranoia... but I'd be watching my back if I was you!
Thanks for taking time out of your day to educate people on this important topic and to help make kids healthier. In the long run the dummies will be what the kids remember most.
I am sure you inspired many children to buckle up! The fruits of your labor may not be visible yet- but give it time!
Just reading about having a plastic thing screwed over your head makes me cringe. I would be claustrophobic too! Thank you for your sacrifice for the sake of safety! And you look cute! You need to scrapbook that photo. I expect to see it in my gallery soon...
I think you must have done alot of good even if you did scare the little kids. The pictue was funny,
I never would have guessed. You do a great job. I love your sense of humor.
I never would have guessed. You do a great job. I love your sense of humor.
I agree... that picture needs to be kept for posterity! Get your sister to do it *chuckles* I admire you for what you did. It would have taken a lot for me to clamp that thing over my head. I have a long sad story behind kids buckling up. I hope the mothers at least learnt, even if the kids didn't. Kudos to you and your colleague!
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